


2,019 Christmases and Counting

by ckywalker



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff, Just for funsies, M/M, Not much plot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, a brief cameo by jesus christ, a lot of conversation, jumping through time, just a bunch of scenes, like a centuries-long slow burn y'all know how it goes here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckywalker/pseuds/ckywalker
Summary: A collection of scenes of Aziraphale and Crowley during Christmas over the years--even before it came to be called that.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 5





	1. 1 AD

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an ask to Neil Gaiman's tumblr weeks ago that stuck with me. Unfortunately I can't find it, but in summary someone asked if GO would have a Christmas special, to which he responded no (at least not this year) and threw out a couple of ideas for Christmas special plots. One of them included the Nativity and Aziraphale's poor planning.

Crawly uses a “borrowed” ladder to climb onto the roof of the inn. He wants to get a good look at the big to-do without making his presence known to anyone and causing a stir (even demons hate the sound of wailing babies). It surprises him to find another figure in the place he had figured would get him the best view of the stable below. It surprises him even more to recognize that figure. 

“Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale jumps, startled, and almost falls off the roof. He turns around, and Crawly can see evidence of tears in his eyes wide-open from shock. After a beat he recovers himself enough to respond. 

“Crawly? What are you doing here?” 

“What am I doing here? I’m being sneaky! What are you doing here?” 

“Oh. Well I suppose that makes sense.” 

“Didn’t answer my question.” Crawly settles beside Aziraphale on the edge of the rooftop, both sitting on the ledge and letting their sandal-clad feet dangle, hopefully out of sight from inside the stable where Crawly can now see a young woman propped up against a pile of straw holding a baby and a man sitting right beside them, cooing over the baby.

Aziraphale nods at the new family. “I’m here for them. I was sent to prepare a space for them.” 

Crawly shoots Aziraphale an incredulous glance. “So you prepared the stable?” 

Aziraphale purses his lips. “No, that wasn’t the plan…” 

“What exactly was the plan, then?” 

Aziraphale has never figured out why he feels he can always tell Crawly the truth. Four thousand years earlier, he had lied to God Herself, but told Crawly what really happened in their very first conversation.  
“I gave it away!” rings in his memory as he considers sharing the truth with his sworn enemy again. 

He has always chalked it up to Crawly’s cunning nature and the temptation that oozed off him—that enticement to confide in the enemy came unquestionably as a dark and unnatural gift and after a matter of time, Crawly would surely use it against him. Aziraphale knew how sin worked: give in to what feels good for a short while, but suffer the consequences in the long game. He figured that Crawly’s long game involves sharing Aziraphale’s secrets someday, whenever it best suits him. Aziraphale knows he shouldn’t give in. 

Aziraphale curses himself internally and tells him anyway. 

“My job was to make a place for them, so I came early and reserved this entire inn. I set up a room especially to ensure her comfort during the birth. I even hired a team of midwives to wait on standby.” 

“And when did the birthing suite get swapped out for the stable?” 

“It all happened so fast. I received a report that it was almost time, so I went to gather the midwives. And while I was out, the leader of the Heavenly Chorus called upon me, right there in the streets of Bethlehem! Do you have any idea why?”

“Wanted to know where you were?” 

“No! They wanted to know where they were. They used divine communication to ask for directions! They wanted to know where they could find nearby shepherds.” 

Crawly has to suppress a laugh. 

“They frightened away the midwives, what with the glowing apparitions and all. I had to chase after each of them and try to convince them to come back with me. Only two did, and only after considerable consoling and a promise to increase their pay. By the time all that had happened and we finally returned, they’d already arrived and the baby had already been born.” 

Crawly really doesn’t know what to say. 

“Well, at least it sounds like it was a fast birth,” he says in an attempt to console Aziraphale. He turns back to the parents wrapping the baby in a swaddling cloth. “From what I’ve heard, birthing’s an awfully messy business but they look fine, happy even.” 

“But it wasn’t supposed to go like this, I had a plan! And now I’ve gone and utterly mucked up the very first human experience for the Son of God.” 

Aziraphale shifts himself so that he can’t see Crawly or the stable. His head bows and Crawly can tell when his whole body shakes that he’s started crying. When Crawly first arrived, he had figured that the joy and holiness of the birth of Christ had caused the tears he’d seen in Aziraphale’s eyes, but he understands now.

In his thousands of years across two very different lives, he’s never had to comfort anyone before, and he has no idea how to try. He racks his brain for the right thing to say, and how to say it. 

Crawly shrugs, nonchalant. He can’t let Aziraphale know that he feels bad for him, after all. “You had your plan. But that’s not always the plan, you know?” 

Aziraphale turns to Crawly, an unasked question furrowed on his brow. There, Crowley figures, at least he’s diverted his attention. Before he can say anything, the demon keeps talking. 

“Besides, I’m sure the humans will love it.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Crawly chews on his thought. “Well, it’s good marketing, don’t you think? Give it enough spin and it can go from ‘the Son of God plopped into this world on a bed of filthy straw’ to ‘the King of Kings got his start with the most humble of beginnings.’ Makes him more relatable.” 

Crawly considers how much trouble it would mean for him if his bosses ever learn that he gave his honest opinion to an angel, and even worse, that he gave his honest opinion about the other side making a good strategic move—and worse than all that, that he did it as a part of trying to comfort “the enemy.” He reasons to himself that he wouldn’t make a good demon if he didn’t go around doing something trouble-worthy now and again. 

“Besides,” he continues, “nobody ever remembers or celebrates the story of how anyone’s born.” 

Aziraphale sniffs, straightens a little. “No, they don’t do they?” 

They both look upon the scene in the stable. The mother looks so young, so worn, so dirty, but as she gazes at the baby in her arms, her expression says that none of that matters. A baby means new life, new beginnings, and change. On the rooftop, Aziraphale and Crawly wonder what that change will bring, both for humanity, and for themselves.


	2. 40 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up immediately after the scene in Rome from ep3.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with this?” 

Aziraphale watches as Crowley holds the oyster in front of his face and studies it. Even though he can’t see Crowley’s eyes with the new dark glasses he wears, he knows what squinting looks like. He wonders how much Crowley can see behind those things. 

Crowley flips the oyster shell in his hand and its contents spill out onto his lap with a plop. 

“Oh, well that seems disgusting.” 

Aziraphale sighs. With a short wave of his hand, the contents appear back in the shell. “Watch me.” 

He selects his own oyster from their shared platter, squeezes a lemon slice over it, and lifts it to his lips. He places the shell along his bottom lip and tips it into his mouth. His head tilts back and his eyes close as he savors it, chewing a couple of times before swallowing with an exaggerated gulp. Crowley does watch, intently so. He feels he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to—and when he thinks about it, he certainly doesn’t want to. He realizes why humans have made such a big deal about these things and hyped them up as aphrodisiacs, and feels a pull deep in the pit of his stomach. He has to distract himself before his body decides to have a reaction without his allowing it. 

He holds his oyster up to his lips. It decidedly does not smell like any food he’s ever smelt before, even if he only eats on occasion. Regardless, he figures Aziraphale must have a reason for liking it so he tips it back. It slides immediately to the back of his throat and down his esophagus. He sputters, something between a cough and a gag, another one of those strange, uniquely human reactions that comes with having a physical form. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale reaches out and his hand falters in midair as he stops himself from placing a comforting hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry. Should have warned you that they’re awfully slippery.” 

Crowley washes down the oyster with some wine. “Who ever thought to eat one of those? What bloke thought to pick up a rock from the ocean, break it open, and slurp up the goop and juice? 

Aziraphale does not share that he had knew that bloke rather well and praised his adventurous curiosity. “I’m sorry you didn’t like it.” 

“I didn’t say that. The taste isn’t that bad. S’pose I just have to learn to eat it right.” 

“Perhaps try it with some lemon or vinegar. It brings the flavors together nicely.” 

Crowley attempts a second oyster, this time with a squeeze of lemon like he saw Aziraphale do. He holds it in his mouth and chews before swallowing. He nods. “Much better.” 

Aziraphale doesn’t recognize the nervous tension that he’d built up until it leaves him with a relieved smile. He asks himself why he had wanted to win Crowley’s approval and feels immediate guilt set in. 

But no, he rations, he has done a good deed, sharing an aspect of humanity with a demon, however small, trivial, or indulgent. If Jesus could welcome the tax collectors and sinners to dine with Him, surely an angel could share a meal with a demon. 

“So,” Crowley starts “what brings you to Rome? Unless you’re just visiting to sample the local delicacies.” 

“No, I’m here on business.” 

“Me too. And I can tell you, if you’re trying to save Caligula you’ve got your bloody work cut out for you,” he takes another swig of wine. 

“Is that who you’re here to tempt? I should’ve known sinister forces were behind all the nasty things I’ve heard about him!” 

“Nah, he doesn’t need any help from us.” 

“Oh.” He doesn’t notice Crowley look away when he helps himself to another oyster. “Well then who were you here to tempt?” 

“Well that’s not very fair, is it? You want to know the details of my assignment but I all I get from you is ‘I’m here on business.’” 

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to say. 

“Tell you what, I’ll share my assignment with you if you share yours.” 

“Fine, but you first.” 

“You don’t trust me.” 

“Can you blame me?” 

Crowley shrugs. “Fair enough.” He looks around them, scanning the room, and leans in close. “I’m here to plant the idea to the praetorian guard of offing Caligula.” 

“Well isn’t that a strange coincidence! I’ve been sent to influence the man who is to be the future emperor. Only now he’s only a young boy, which I suppose is the best time to start swaying him in the right direction.” 

“Strange coincidence indeed…” Crowley leans back in his chair, too comfortable. He raises his wine to his lips and says under his breath “almost makes you wonder if it’s coincidence at all.” 

“What was that?” 

“I said,” he lowers his cup again. “I was hoping this would be a quick job, but it looks like I’m going to have to stay to see that it’s followed through. Nobody wants to make a move until after the festival.” 

“I see. I could understand how one might lose their will for assassination after several days straight of revelry.” 

“Do you have any plans, then? For Saturnalia, I mean.” 

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to celebrate a festival in honor of a false god, do you?” 

“Well sure, but it’s everything else you love. Good food, good drink, goodwill.” 

Aziraphale offers Crowley a sharp look. “Awfully bold of you to assume everything that I love. But more importantly, it hardly counts as goodwill to offer service to your slaves for one week if you hold them in slavery the rest of the year. And I don’t think that allowing gambling counts as benevolence either.” 

“So you’re going to what? Hunker down and avoid the debauchery while society goes all topsy-turvy?” 

“I was thinking of trying to avoid it completely, to be honest.” 

“You could always, you know, just go somewhere else.” 

“I don’t have many options, though. Sea travel doesn’t agree with me and the last time I visited Germania was more than enough of a visit to last me the next few centuries. 

Crowley shrugs. “They’re all celebrating the solstice too, anyway,” he says.

“Yes, I suppose they are.” 

“Wonder what it is about this time of year that makes humans want to feast and frolic all over the continent.” 

“Well certainly, it’s only natural to want to celebrate the end of darkness and the arrival of light.” 

Crowley ignores the obvious double entendre. “But they celebrate the summer solstice, too. That’s the beginning of darkness.” 

“Perhaps they just need reason to celebrate.,” Aziraphale ventures. 

“And you don’t?” Crowley angles his head so that he can gaze at Aziraphale from over his glasses so that Aziraphale knows he wants direct eye contact. 

Aziraphale pauses, purses his lips. “Not for the same reasons that they do, no.” 

Crowley adjusts his glasses and sits back. 

“I celebrate the holy days, of course. And I enjoy them. Just not Roman holy days.” 

“Well, Rome won’t last forever. Maybe the next big empire will be more in your favor.” 

Aziraphale considers that for a moment, and can’t help but smile. He wordlessly lifts up his cup of wine for a cheers with Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a purpose for this chapter but it got lost in over-describing the boys eating oysters. Go figure.

**Author's Note:**

> So first of all, the actual year of the birth of Jesus is not certain. I went with 1AD to make it easy. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments give me life and will sustain me through this winter season. 
> 
> This is a WIP and I currently don't have a beta but I would like to have one! If you'd be interested, please leave a comment or send me a message.


End file.
